


call it what you want to

by thesarcasticone



Series: all i've ever known [7]
Category: A Song of Ice and Fire & Related Fandoms, A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Age Difference, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, F/M, Realizations, Slow Burn, part of a series, the Riverlands
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-22
Updated: 2019-11-22
Packaged: 2021-02-26 00:15:07
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,898
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21524317
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thesarcasticone/pseuds/thesarcasticone
Summary: The swordfighting dance was one they both easily got lost in; it was an ability they shared. A trusted instinct which had served to preserve their lives amidst the battles fought, but made them both unaware of anything which wasn’t the ringing of the blood in their ears, the clang of metal against metal, and the rush of the wind as their swords moved and danced along with them.They became immune to the surroundings sounds, which was why neither heard the oncoming snickers or the rustling of leaves, alerting them of a nearing presence.Or: Jaime and Brienne travel the Riverlands.
Relationships: Jaime Lannister & Brienne of Tarth, Jaime Lannister/Brienne of Tarth
Series: all i've ever known [7]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1511672
Comments: 27
Kudos: 98





	call it what you want to

**Author's Note:**

> As always thanks to everyone who has read any of the past instalments. 
> 
> This one gave me a headache because I couldn't decide how to post it. In the end I decided to stick with my original plan of posting the entire thing in one go. 
> 
> I try to stick with book!canon facts, but there some small show things I borrowed. 
> 
> As always, all mistakes are my own. 
> 
> Title from Taylor Swift song Call It What You Want

Jaime felt alive and drunk on sunlight. The thought alone was enough to spurge a boisterous laugh worthy of one deceased Robert Baratheon from deep within the Knight. 

As he controlled his sudden outburst, his green eyes searched for known blue ones, finding Brienne scowling at him, her blue orbs offering no comfort but a sharpness Jaime had grown used to seeing in them for the past year. The guilt threatened to surge within him, but the rays of warm sunlight made his exuberant joy outwin the feelings of self deprecation which always loomed around his mind when concerning the young lady. 

One year they had sat, rotting away inside a dungeon. For a year they had both yearned for the sun’s warmth, for the last of the summer rays and winds to hit each of their faces. For an entire year, he had remained a prisoner of the Starks with Brienne having remained dutifully by his side, taking in far more heat and shit than he should have allowed her to succumb to. But his friend had always been stubborn and fiercely loyal to both her beliefs and her relations.

He had watched her lose her shine and her youthful exuberance inside those cells. Her blue eyes, once a comfort to Jaime had become gems of caution and trepidation. He still thought them beautiful, but they looked older, wiser and -reserved. It was only their past relationship and kinship which now granted Jaime the skill to acutely decipher Brienne’s feelings through her eyes. 

A year had gone by, and she had finally learned to shield such tangible emotions from the rest of the world. 

Even so, as much as he tried, Jaime couldn’t find himself comprehending his friend’s insistence on scowling at him every time he displayed any type of delight; as she had taken to do ever since they had escaped the Riverrun dungeons and had begun their arduous voyage through the dreaded Riverlands. Her eyes spoke of sorrow and content, but he couldn’t decipher anything else. 

The third member of their little party decided to break the short silence by uttering some words, soft and meek and so like Cleos, Jaime decidedly ignored the statement as he continued to observe the maid and her still straight face. His cousin’s opinions through their journey had not proven to be more insightful than those of a green squire. Jaime had not been meager in restraining his opinion on his cousin's intrusion. 

For a year they had been kept under the watchful eyes of Stark _and_ Tully men, not even being allowed the courtesy of a decent bath, sometimes not even a proper meal. A year which she _shouldn’t_ have suffered through. Jaime had told Brienne as much throughout the entire time of their shared captivity; he had always been keen to remind Brienne of the fact she could have left him alone during the battle, that she _should_ have left him alone. Her response had always been the same.

_“I’ve sworn a vow to you; to protect you no matter the cost. I don’t serve Lannisters, just you. A Lannister soldier gave me the order to retreat, not_ you _.”_

Stupid, stubborn girl had appeared beside him, saving his bloodied ass in the midst of the damning battle of the Whispering Wood. Gallant and brave, and every bit the Knight she should have been made after said feat. Her blue armor had glistened with the reflections of the torche’s flames, with blood smeared all over her frame, his gifted sword swiftly cutting through men’s heads and stabbing their chests as she had brilliantly fought beside him. She had been as glorious as The Warrior, and as majestic as a Knight from the golden Age of Heroes. 

It hadn’t been enough. Not enough to have evaded capture by their enemies; their swords confiscated as they had been bound and thrown in the dirt, subjecting themselves to the mockery of a lost battle. She had tried to the very end, but the feat had been impossible to achieve. They had fallen together, and Jaime had cursed her loyalty the second he had been unfortunate to witness a man knock her out cold for having dared to speak in his defence. 

Even when Jaime had tried to bargain with the thick headed northerners and riverlanders, Brienne had refused to leave his side. Beaten and almost raped by their captors, she had never once betrayed him to anyone. Steadfast and loyal past the point of reason she had again and again claimed her stand. 

_“I serve Ser Jaime, not the Lannisters. I pose no threat to him, I have vowed to keep him safe.”_

Whore, they had taken to calling her ever since their first day among the frigid northerners. _His_ whore. Jaime had sneered at and had threatened every single one of the idiots who had dared insult her in his presence, but his obvious kinship and concern regarding the maid had quickly grown to be used for their entertainment. They would hit her, torture her, threaten her; every action having been done with the purpose of riling Jaime up; to provoke him to anger, to slowly drive him into insanity.

It hadn’t been until one of the other Lannister soldiers whom had been captured alongside them had tried to flee from his cell, when their luck had started to take a turn for the better. 

The hedge Knight had been desperate and had already gone half mad. He had sprung a knife from inside his robes and had charged at his guard -their guard. Brienne had stood up quicker than she should have been able to with the lack of nutriment her body had been receiving. She had attacked the man and had successfully prevented his escape by stopping him having used the blade from his own weapon.

Lady Catelyn Stark, whom had been regally parading among soldiers while trying to disguise the fact she had been nothing more than a concerned mother trying to look after a mere _boy_ who had been pretending to be a King, had then come prancing to their cells; tentative and harboding such a glare in her eyes Jaime had found himself unable to look away from such mesmerizing sight. The woman had chilled him, and had efficiently broken his trusted friend. 

Brienne had always been strong; even while in captivity and when having had to face the potential threat of rape and death every day, she had still held her ground and her firm belief in the rightousness of the world. So when Lady Catelyn had come to question the Maid of Tarth of her peculiar circumstances, the maid had thought her prayers had been answered. 

The Lady of Winterfell had listened with rapt attention but had never once given any inkling as to what her feelings regarding the maid’s tale had been. 

Jaime had taken to tease his friend about her faith in the Stark woman. He had enjoyed being allowed a quick reminisce into what their lives had been during those glorious months when he had been a respected commander in a war, and Brienne had been there beside him; a friend, a trusted partner fighting alongside him with no other worries but those relating to the perils of a good fight. 

Brienne had thrived in his camp as he had always hoped she would do. It had been hard for his men to accept a woman among their ranks, but their hesitancy and prejudice had been something Brienne had been preparing for her entire life. She had efficiently evaded allowing such disconcerting comments to diminish her talent or prowess. 

Jaime had always considered himself a solitary fighter. One could only ever rely on one’s own sword, ability and instinct. Brienne had won his trust quicker than anyone else in the entire realm. Not even his sister had ever created such a sense of -tranquility within Jaime, as the Maid of Tarth efficiently did. 

The thought of his sweet sister waiting for him back at the capital made Jaime pause in his exuberance. 

Cersei. 

In another life, in another time, he would have been desperately counting the seconds until he could return to her embrace, to her kisses and her heat. He wasn't. Cersei owned a part of his heart, but she didn’t own _him_ , not completely, not as he had once given himself to her. Now- now he found himself dreading their arrival to the capital, where Cersei would eventually greet their party and finally cross paths with the woman who had been stealing Jaime’s time and mind for the last few years. 

Jaime threw his most handsome of smiles the maid’s way, in hopes of easing her own frown. His efforts rewarded him with a soft and barely-there smile given with precious honesty. An honesty which allowed her crystal eyes to remain clouded with something which had been present in them ever since they had successfully stolen their weapons and had fled from the Tully’s ancestral home. 

Jaime found himself wishing he were brave enough to openly ask his friend about whatever it was that was ailing her, but he wasn’t; just as he wasn’t brave enough to admit to himself why the thought of his sister finally meeting the Maid of Tarth made his stomach churn in sickness. 

\------------

They had been walking and rowing and trying to remain upright as they made their way across the Riverlands. Jaime had been annoyingly gleeful throughout most of their journey. Brienne couldn’t really find a true fault in his behaviour. They had been locked up for the better part of a year, subjected to a less than ideal state of captivity in which they rarely ate and got offered no sympathies or proper courtesies befitting either of their ranks. 

In her own way, Brienne also felt immense joy in finally being allowed the opportunity to bathe in the warm sunlight and breathe in the crisp and fresh air. She had stifled moans when she had taken a sip of fresh river water and eaten the soft meat of a wild hare. There was a peculiar warmth and sense of _living_ which she could feel running through her veins with each passing second. A feeling she found herself growing desperate to preserve. 

With unmeasured joy came measured diligence and caution. They were alive, all three, having been granted liberation by the merciful act of grieving mother. Brienne was not keen on allowing such a gift to end up getting wasted by a careless exploit such as giving their position away to any weary rebels or outlaws patrolling the Riverlands. 

So Brienne understood Jaime’s unreserved exuberance, but could not find herself mimicking his vibrant expression of joy. 

They traded on, each step a step closer to freedom, a step closer to their destination and the end of a long journey which had begun more than a year ago. A journey which Brienne could still not decide whether she wanted it to end or not. 

King’s Landing was to be their final destination; the three weary travelers had to endure the plains and hills of the land in order to arrive at the kingdom's capital city. Her mission was but one; to bring and safely deliver Ser Jaime Lannister and his cousin Ser Cleos Frey back to their families in exchange for the two Stark daughters. 

The feat sounded daunting, even inside Brienne’s own mind, but she had made a promise, and even if the world around her had proven itself inconsistent and a myriad of disillusionments, Brienne still felt compelled to honor her given pledges. 

Even if the thought of returning to the kingdom's capital did create a surge of uneasiness inside the warrior maiden. Brienne hadn't been inside the city ever since she had been forced to attend a day of court with her father, all those years ago. 

She barely even remembered the occasion now; the only memories her brain had allowed her to preserve being those of the King’s mocking laughter and Jaime’s inquisitive and knowing glance. 

Of course Jaime saw no qualms with finally getting to go home, back to a life he treasured; back to his honor, back to his children, back to his sister -his _lover_. 

Brienne tried, but failed to not let the thought of Jaime embracing the Queen Regent fill her mind. She had no right to be overcome with such intense -sadness upon remembering Jaime’s ardent love for his sister. It was not right, or honorable, or common, but it was love and those who found it and were able to relish in such wonders were lucky and should not be wished sorrow. 

Ser Cleos insisted on resting, the meek looking man barely a shadow of what Jaime was, even after a full year of malnourishment. Jaime cursed his own cousin, taking Brienne’s side on her insistence of using the Duskendale road for easier travel. They never got to finish their argument as an arrow found Cleos’s front and then his back. 

Jaime grabbed Brienne’s arm just as she made a desperate grab for his own. They locked eyes for a brief second before nodding and charging at their attackers. It was a strategy having been once taught to Brienne by her friend on what seemed to be another lifetime; back when she had been a child still untouched by war, and he a Knight, golden and misjudged by most of the kingdom. 

“Fucking archers.” Jaime spat as the outlaws ran from their sights, a couple of their discarded arrows being left behind on the ground where they had been hiding. 

“Your cousin-”

“Serves him right for doubting your word.”

Brienne glared at him, her blue eyes still wide, her pupils still dilated from the adrenaline rush they had just been subjected to. 

“He’s dead, Jaime. I was supposed to deliver you both safe-”

“He’s more Frey than Lannister, Brienne. Trust me, my father will release both girls in exchange for me alone. Come on, we should strip him of whatever he has, I could do with an extra blade.”

Brienne’s eyes went wide, but her glare was soft as she followed, already more than used to his antics after more than a year of constantly having been exposed to his mind and its inner workings. 

Dead. She had _promised_ ; she had sworn a vow to Lady Catelyn, after the woman had risked everything to set them both free, and had trusted Brienne’s word. 

One of the men had tried to escape, had murdered a Stark guard and had almost made it out of the cell when Brienne had awoken and had stopped him, effectively killing the prisoner as he had charged at her. 

Lady Catelyn had just arrived at Riverrun, and had heard about the warrior maiden being held captive alongside the Kingslayer, and had been informed about how she had murdered one of her fellow Lannister prisoners. The story had been curious enough to have sparked the Lady of Winterfell’s interest. 

Lady Catelyn had looked down on Brienne with such a motherly gaze, one cool and iced, but filled with concern and worry which Brienne had not seen directed towards her ever since her own mother had passed. 

Filled with a heavy heart, she had spilled her truth to Lady Catelyn, had made the Lady aware of her current predicament and how it had been she had come to arrive to be in service of one Jaime Lannister. With vehemence, Brienne had let Lady Catelyn know and be well made aware of: Brienne was loyal to Jaime, _not_ the Lannisters. 

It might have been Brienne’s honest eyes, it might have been her family’s honorable reputation, or perhaps the fact Catelyn had become desperate enough when the news of her youngest boys’ deaths had reached Riverrrun; Brienne would never truly comprehend what had prompted the Lady to have trusted her with such a hazardous and important task. 

She was to take Jaime and Cleos back to King’s Landing in exchange for the Lady's daughters. They were to arrive safe and unharmed. 

Both alive. That had been the bargain. One was _dead_. 

“Don’t look so forlorn. You can’t tell me now you had developed some sort of kindred feelings for such a dreadful man?”

“He was no worse than any other man I’ve ever met.”

“Including me?”

“I will not grant you an answer, _Ser_.” She shouldn’t have teased, or had given him a smile, but his presence, still alive and breathing beside her couldn’t help but fill Brienne with a sense of -solace. 

As they examined Cleos’ fallen body, Jaime’s voice startled Brienne, another bout of joy suddenly overtaking her friend. 

“Jaime, please be quiet.”

“We’re near Maidenpool, I just realized.”

“You already knew that. Come on, we should bury him before the sun sets. And please stop singing, you’ll make whoever shot us come back.”

“They won’t, archers are cowards.”

“Not all of them.” She mumbled as she took to turning the fallen Frey-Lannister. 

“Brienne, please look at me.” Jaime called, his green eyes calm and assertive and _knowing_. “I know you. Don’t feel bad about him. He’s not worth your tears, or your self-deprecating thoughts. We’ll strip him and continue our journey, if we delay we’ll lose daylight.”

Brienne knew he was speaking truth; the days were getting shorter and they truly couldn’t lose any more time than they had already managed to carelessly use back when they had found the small pool and had taken turns trying to bathe their year-long filth off their skins. 

“Alright, but we at least cover his body with -something. He was your cousin, Jaime.”

“Yes, and a snivelling cunt who once threatened to take your maidenhead, remember?”

“Yes, like I’ve said. No worse than any of the other.”

She could see the anger in his eyes, and for a moment Brienne allowed herself the thought of meaning something to him, of being important enough to warrant his defense and anger. 

_King’s Landing. Cersei. His children._

Thoughts which served to remind Brienne of the truth of the world, of the idiocy behind her own foolish and girlish thoughts and feelings. 

Jaime had a whole life in which she didn’t figure. It had been glorious, to have shared these past months next to him, even while being held captive. She had found a purpose and a mission, a role to play in the world which she had finally felt she could properly perform. It would all end once she delivered him to his family.

As Brienne took the fallen man’s purse and checked the state of his wardrobe, she heard Jaime unsheathed his stolen blade.

“Jaime…” Brienne turned to face him. 

He was smirking and already standing in position towards her. He had been worse than a child ever since they had been set free by Lady Catelyn. Brienne could understand the joy, the excitement; what she couldn’t comprehend was his carelessness with the possibility of being discovered. 

The entire Kingdom was at war, and it seemed Jaime was keen on forgetting said fact. 

“Come on, a quick bout, my Lady.”

“ _Ser_ , you were the one who insisted we keep moving.”

“You were also the one who insisted we spar an hour each day to regain our strengths. Come on, we can even take a quick wash after we’re done.”

Brienne reddened at that, her mind going over the last attempt at bathing they had undergone. It was one thing to have complete trust in the man when battling in an open field, or when whispering to each other secrets they’ve always kept close; it was another to have to strip naked in front of him. 

His laugh could have been infectious, if the circumstances had been better; but Ser Cleos Frey still lay dead between them, an arrow in his chest; the threat of death looming over both of them as a constant companion, and the exhaustion of the past year still owning their futile bodies. 

He charged without evident warning, but Brienne had known him for too long, and far too well. She parried his attack with such a quick motion, it made Jaime give her an appreciative smirk. 

They fought, their swords meeting in mid air, kissing once and kissing again, and again; her grunts and his hisses slowly starting to fill the air around them. 

It didn’t matter if the spar was but a mere friendly one, a training session for both parties; both trying to recuperate lost strength and ability. They fought with the same ardor and passion as if the other were an enemy and not a most beloved friend. 

The swordfighting dance was one they both easily got lost in; it was an ability they shared. A trusted instinct which had served to preserve their lives amidst the battles fought, but made them both unaware of anything which wasn’t the ringing of the blood in their ears, the clang of metal against metal, and the rush of the wind as their swords moved and danced along with them. 

They became immune to the surroundings sounds, which was why neither heard the oncoming snickers or the rustling of leaves, alerting them of a nearing presence. 

It was the sound of roaring laughter what decidedly pulled them apart and made each turn to where the noises came from; both their swords ready, their breathing labored and their faces flushed from the exertion. 

Jaime assessed the situation as best as he could with his still sluggish mind, and could almost hear Brienne beside him, doing the same. 

“Pardon if we disturbed you, friends. You’ve caught us at an inopportune moment. My lady and I enjoy a good spar before taking each other to bed.” Jaime offered, trying his hardest to sound as honest as he could. 

He recognized these men, had more than known about his father’s hired dogs and hounds. Scum which Tywin Lannister enjoyed using in order to keep his own hands clean from blood. 

_Fucking bloody mummers._

Brienne could feel her eyes going wide, her skin reddening from embarrassment as well as anger. If they hadn’t been about to probably get slaughtered by a band of outlaws, she would have gladly punched her friend until the idiot apologized for his crude and mocking humor.

The men who had encountered them were many; all ragged, all sneering, all a myriad of different cultures and classes. There were far too many of them for both to swiftly be able to wipe out by themselves, not after a day’s travel and their little training bout. While both had been growing stronger with each passing day, both were more than conscious of their current physical and mental limitations. 

Brienne grew almost instantly aware of the fact that Jaime seemed to recognize the outlaws. His voice oozed an equanimity Brienne hoped she was the only one who could tell it was no more than a well delivered facade. 

A negotiation was offered on the Knight’s part, while Brienne remained steadfast in guarding his left, her gaze never faltering away from the apparent leader of the group which was eager to proclaim both vagabonding soldiers as their captives.

She should have been guarding his right, for the landing blow which served to knock Jaime out from beside her came from said side. A brute man, one whom might have been even larger than herself, came rustling from behind her own frame, restraining her sudden charge towards where a couple of the ragged men had taken to beat Jaime to the ground. Their shrill laughs mixed in with her shrieking screams and grunting huffs, but her strength was nothing like the one she had been trained with, and thus could not find the right amount of conviction within her muscles to break free from the brutish man and his companions. 

Their swords got taken away from them; hers, the only one which pained both Brienne and Jaime to have had to watch be stripped away from their grasp, the rubies and sapphires still brightly glistening as the first time either had laid eyes upon the magnificent blade. 

With broken spirits and bruised bodies, they were each tied back to back on one of the Brave Companions’ horses. Jaime mumbled, words which Brienne found hard to comprehend, but found herself too tired to ask the meaning of. Whenever either grunted from a bad step, or hissed from a sudden stop, they each felt the other’s hand tighten around their own, a symbol of companionship and support which eventually did manage to bring tears to both their eyes. 

“You’re going to get raped.” Jaime’s voice was clear, Brienne’s head snapping and almost bumping into his own as she realized they were the first audible words her friend had uttered in the hours they had been forced to sit together. 

Yes, she was aware of said fact. Why did he feel the need to remind her of it? She had escaped such violence for months, a feat she more or less knew to have been accomplished thanks to him. The Tullys and Starks had been brutish, but they had never laid a hand on her.

“I won’t let them.” Brienne wished for her voice to sound far more convincing than it did, if only to maintain some sense of strength within her. 

“Brienne, they’ll kill you if you so much as squirm. The Goat is a contemptible swine of a man, and he doesn't look like much, but he can be brutal and sadistic when he wants to.”

“Are you suggesting I _allow_ them to rape me?” She spat back, allowing for a tiny crack in her voice to escape her lips. 

“No!” 

“I won’t let them. I won’t let them hurt you, either.”

“Brienne stop.” His chest ached even more than his muscles, more than his bruised arms and legs. Stupid, noble girl was going to get herself killed. Couldn’t she see she was worth more than ten times over any other wretched man, including him? 

“I won’t.”

“Don’t lose your life an account of mine.” Stubborn as a mule, feigning bravery for the world, but who couldn’t fool him as much as she tried. He knew her better than anyone, just as she knew him. 

_What in the seven hells have I done?_ He should have sent her back to Tarth when he had gotten the chance. 

“I made a vow.” Couldn’t he comprehend it? Couldn’t he see she felt no qualms in defending them both if needed? She had promised to fight for him _and_ alongside him. He was her most beloved friend and he was - gods, he was _everything_. 

“Yes, and what have I’ve always told you about vows? Men make them without ever fully comprehending their true meaning. Gods, I should have never allowed you to make that silly vow. I should have known your stubbornness would one day lead to this.”

Brienne tried to not feel insulted, they were both tied to each other, beaten and tired and being taken to a man Jaime kept referring to as the Goat. He was deflecting the only way he knew how, which was to mock and insult those around him. She had seen him retreat to such action on countless occasions; she had simply never been the recipient of such mechanism. 

There was a truth in his words which Brienne decided to ignore. “I’ll be fine.” 

Jaime scoffed, but his hands -both pinned behind him- found hers, his fingers intertwining with her own in what he attempted to be a comforting gesture. Both were scared -even if neither would ever admit to such a truth. Even amidst the tumultuous situation, his touch warmed her even more than the vast sunlight could ever do. 

“I’m sorry.” 

His sincerity and the strained tone which he used to deliver such a statement made Brienne’s heart ache. She could practically feel his remorse, his self-blame. 

_You don’t have anything to be sorry about. You never have._

Brienne squeezed back before allowing her head to rest against his, appreciating the fact he was not able to witness the streams of tears rolling down her dirtied cheeks. 

\---------

True to her word, Brienne avidly fought for her dignity as they were paraded in front of Vargo Hoat, a slobbering excuse of a man who seemed to enjoy riling Jaime up and threatening to cut limbs. He was tall and gaunt, with a dark colored pointed beard which glistened from the slobber which dribbled from his lisping lips on to his chin. His eyes were sharp, and cunning; his orbs following Jaime with a sadistic hunger which prickled Brienne’s skin as she watched how her friend failed to persuade the man to ransom them for Lannister gold. 

Brienne never stopped struggling against her captors; every thrust, every squirm a desperate attempt at escaping their grasp, her eyes never leaving Jaime’s frame as she watched him try and charm the outlaw with his most devilish of smirks and suavest of grins. Their eyes met only once, green meeting blue across smoke and sweat, a promise expressed in each gaze. 

_They will not lay a hand on you._

_I won’t let them touch you._

His taunts had already managed to at least delay her imminent raping, the word _sapphires_ having fallen from his lips with such casualty Brienne had not even considered the possibility the mummers would take the bait. They had. But his bribery had only served the purpose of allowing her maidenhood to remain untouched, and nothing less. The eyes of the mummers still glistenened with the lust for torture, the greed for more. 

Brienne watched how the Goat eyes shone with something which she wished she were clever enough to fully comprehend. She watched how he spat at Jaime, how his thin lips turned upwards to give a wry grin which held a malice in it which efficiently managed to send shivers down Brienne’s spine. 

She tugged on her restraints once more, hissing at but not letting the sharp pain of her bindings hold her back. Jaime was losing his stance and his chance, and she could do nothing about it. 

A dothraki stood near them, with his duitifull akrah glistening under the bright sun, the shine of it capturing Brienne’s eyes as her own mind drifted towards her own trusting blade, currently in the hands of the one called Urswyck. 

If only she could get her hands back on it. 

Her momentary lapse of concentration got interrupted as she took notice of Jaime suddenly being brutally handled; his bonded arms being forced out in front of him. The Goat’s shrill snicker filled Brienne’s ears, making her stomach drop and her feet try and surge forward; her actions being stopped by the same noseless man who had first threatened to rape her. 

Rorge did not hesitate to land a punch right below her ribs, her kidney crying out in sharp pain, her blue eyes opening in worry as she never lost sight of an also struggling Jaime being laid out in front of her; close enough to hear his grunts, yet not enough to help.

“No,” she called out, her voice threatening to crack as she witnessed the dothraki man raise his arm beside Jaime’s outstretched arms, his glistening akrah firmly clasped at the end of it. 

They wouldn’t. They _couldn’t_ . She had sworn to keep him _safe_!

Noseless snickered in her ear, grabbing a fistfull of her short and brittle hair to tug her face towards him so he could hiss his words closer to her ear.

“You watch what happens to boastful shitty lions who think they’re better than the rest of us.”

Brienne could have overpowered him, she still held enough strength to take down a single man. Even if she still felt weak and slow, her training would be enough to send the man to an early meeting with the stranger; but she wouldn’t risk Jaime, not when there was an akrah hanging above him, not when said akrah swiftly came down to land right above Jaime’s right hand. 

Both screamed.

“Jaime!” Her body surged forwards, her last bit of strength surging from within as she watched the blade efficiently cut through skin and bone. She broke Rorge’s firm hold on her and sent a quick prayer to the Mother as she realized no one stepped in to stop her from fumbling towards her friend; the only man whom she had ever trusted her life to; the only one she had ever dared to trust her heart to. 

He was passed out, but still alive. She reached out to him, trembling hands trying to turn him over so his face would meet the sky instead of the ground. Brienne took notice of his bleeding right arm and the blood oozing out from his maimed limb; the red of it staining her hands, and her clothing. 

The rage inside her brewed hot and strong, her face flaming in color, her hands fisting, her lips frowning. She would kill every single one of them. She would. She made a silent vow, one she would be more than glad to accomplish. 

“Brienne?”

Jaime’s voice stopped her, his faint whisper barely audible amidst the mummers’ shrill laughter and sneers. 

“Jaime, I’m so sorry.”

“Brienne,” he whispered. Over and over, her name was the only thing which came out of his lips, and the word alone was enough to calm Brienne’s blinding anger and thirst for immediate vengeance. His voice sounded weak and desperate and the sound of it made Brienne’s heart weep and her soul ache. She had never felt such intensity of emotions, such a prominent need to comfort and to take revenge. 

Even with remnant anger still coursing through her veins, Brienne unfisted her hand and softly tried to cover and dress Jaime’s still bleeding arm with a torn up cloth from her own tunic. 

Brienne repressed the sudden urge to lay a kiss on his head as she gently caressed his arm, knowing it would not be poper and knowing he would not appreciate such forwardness. She was his friend, it didn’t matter if she felt her chest tighten whenever he smiled at her, her heart racing whenever he teased her or granted her the barest of touches. It didn’t matter that she knew everything about him; from his golden squiring days, to his frustration on not being allowed to be more of a father to his children. It didn’t matter if he knew everything about her; from her silly fears, to her most desired achievement. It didn’t matter that she- that she-

More than one pair of rough hands suddenly reached for her, tearing her away from an agonizing Jaime, the scream she let out in protest ringing through the mummers’ camp and efficiently ripping her soul apart enough to finally admit to herself the fact she loved the man being cauterized in front of her. She loved him, had loved him for a long time now. No matter the circumstances, or the absurdity of such emotion; she was his, completely. Had been his ever since he had trusted her enough to wield her own sword -perhaps even longer. 

“Fucking whore.” Timeon spat out as he landed a blow on her back, making Brienne hiss. 

“Thow her in with the Kingthlayer, thee you don’t breath any boneths.” Hoat called, with Jaime’s right hand cradled in his arms. The sight was one enough to make Brienne dry heave as the mummers threw her inside a makeshift cell. 

Within minutes, Jaime got thrown in beside her, his body landing not far from her own frame; the thud it gave worrying Brienne as she realized he hadn’t even grunted in pain at being roughly handled. 

She scrunched beside him, trying once again to straighten his body if only to confirm that he was still alive. The laughs of their captors ringed in Brienne’s ears, but nevertheless ended up quieting down as she focused the little energy she had left to tend to Jaime.

“Brienne?” 

Her name, uttered from his lips felt glorious in a way Brienne had never experienced before, had never allowed herself to rejoice in. Her name felt like a caress and the promise of life. Gods, she loved him so much -it didn’t feel _fair_.

“Sush, Jaime; for once in your life, just- sush, please.” He needed to rest, to try and survive this, because if he didn’t -Brienne was certain she would kill him all over again. 

_You can’t leave me now, not now_ -please _._

“I will if you stop crying.”

Brienne hadn’t even noticed her own tears. She blinked and more fell, but her vision and eyes never lost focus of his form, his face, beaten and bloodied and still alive. 

_Gods, why you? Out of everyone who could have gone to Tarth, why did it have to be_ you _?_

As his eyes closed and a sigh escaped his lips, Brienne lost hold of reason and brought her lips down on his forehead, giving him the smallest of kisses. 

A fallen tear landed on his face, the featherlike sensation making Jaime’s eyes flutter open and his lips turn upward in the barest of grins. 

_Gods, why didn’t you ever warn me love would_ hurt _this much?_

With trembling hands and the little strength which she still possessed, Brienne hauled Jaime’s body next to hers, making the upper half of his frame rest atop her own midriff, where her eyes could safely attest to his remaining _alive_. Brienne fell asleep with Jaime’s body cradled on top of hers, his breathing soft against her bare arms, a constant reminder of his still living body and the promise of tomorrow and the opportunity to uptake their revenge. 

* * *

_Stubborn mule of a girl._

The words repeated inside Jaime’s head over and over as he forced his mount to speed up. They had already been a day’s ride away from the cursed castle, so they couldn’t dare to spare a single second as Jaime led Qyburn and Steelshanks back towards the damned walls of Harrenhal.

Jaime had left something precious behind. 

_Damn myself._

Was the other mantra he kept repeating, a reminder of his own foolishness, of having allowed her honorable blue eyes to win him over, to convince him of taking the given opportunity to leave the castle and carry on towards fulfilling a quest which had been bestowed upon _both_. 

Bolton had eerily eyed both his guests, his eyes betraying almost no emotion as he had informed both weary travelers he would be granting Jaime the chance to continue on his journey. Green and blue had met with a mixture of both relief and trepidation. Their apprehension had been proved viable when Bolton had emphasized only Jaime would be granted release. 

Jaime had quarrelled and had tried to defend their position. Brienne left _with_ him, and he left _with_ her. The Knight had been addamt in trying to convince the Lord of the Dreadfort to agree to her release as well. 

Bolton had been firm, Jaime would leave Harrenhal as soon as his fever reduced and Brienne would be left behind. The Goat had already been denied one of his collected prizes, and Lord Bolton had not felt himself bold enough to try and deny the outlaw _both_ of his claimed trophies. 

It had been his final offer. Jaime had not agreed. Brienne had. 

Jaime cursed war and the fact that not everything could always be settled with gold and jewels. 

Most of all, he cursed Brienne's calm and _stubborn_ blue eyes. Eyes which had pleaded for him to trust her, pleaded for him to not waste the given opportunity to leave and continue on their assigned quest. Eyes which had tried to cloud the sadness and fright the young woman had been harboring. Jaime had seen it, had equally and silently begged her to reconsider what she was offering. He wasn’t worth her death, he wasn’t even worthy of her friendship. 

_Stupid. Stubborn. Silly girl._

Of course, Jaime felt the bigger fool for not having fought hard enough, for not having been cunning enough or persuasive enough. He had gathered up his bearings, had resisted the urge to embrace the strong willed maiden warrior, and had joined the small party which was to escort him back home with a sullen face and even more dreadful disposition. 

It hadn’t been until Qyburn had managed to disrupt Jaime from his own thoughts and evasive tactics when the wheels in his head had started to turn once again, the movements igniting something within him he should have never allowed to diminish. A recklessness and stubbornness, which the more Jaime thought about, the more he could see Brienne’s eyes sparkle with recognition.

_“She’s still a maid, your young Lady; which was curious to find. As of last night, at least.”_

The realization and the dawning of the threat and danger he had _left_ her in, came to Jaime with such a striking force, he had instantly demanded their return to the cursed castle. 

She had comforted him, bathed him, cleaned him, fed him, _trusted_ him, had defended him even when the performance of such actions had put her life at risk. He owed her countless of debts. But more than anything, she bloody well deserved to live, to be granted the honor and respect she had been desiring ever since she had been a child. 

Jaime would never forgive himself if he arrived too late; if he arrived to find they had already mutilated her, hurt her, stripped her of the remaining innocence she had somehow managed to preserve during a year of war. 

She was a warrior, had been one for most of her life; her earliest battles being those against hems, and skirts, and a sneering Septa, Jaime still found himself hoping to one day get the chance to meet with. She was strong, as strong as any other man, as strong as _he_. But she was still so very young. Jaime couldn’t bring himself to leave her there, not now - not ever. 

With the added and persistent velocity, the three riders managed to reach Harrenhal in half the time they had originally made when leaving, Jaime still dizzying from the remnants of the fever he had been nursing for the last couple of days. 

Brienne he needed to get to Brienne. 

The silence of the halls unnerved him, but he continued on through the gates, his eyes frantically searching for her tall and broad frame, for her calm and loving eyes, for her sturdy presence. 

_Idiot. Idiot. Idiot. Idiot._

He owed her his life, his survival and the re-ownership of his person. Even without being aware of such a feat, Brienne had given Jaime enough strength and will to finally cut the cord of his ever decaying and overbearing relationship with his twin. She had been strength when he had been weakness; honor, when he had been disgrace; light when he had been darkness. 

If something had already been done to her- Jaime shuddered as he came to realize the intensity of the anger he felt brewing within him upon the mere _thought_. 

He needed to find her. 

As he ventured further inside the castle’s grounds Jaime could faintly start to make out faint sounds, a mix of various voices and shouts coming from somewhere behind the Tower of the Ghosts. 

As he stood in place, trying to make something more of the confusing sounds he was receiving, Steelshanks and Qyburn rode up beside him, both still more than a bit muddled as to the reason they had returned to such a dreary place. 

“Are you certain the girl is worth it, my Lord?”

_Ser. I am still a Knight, even if I only have the one hand._

“She’s worth the entire realm over.”

Gods, how he could have been so _stupid_. His upcoming train of thought, one he hadn’t yet decided if it was a good idea to even complete, was interrupted when the sound of a distant roar caught their attention. 

_No_. Jaime’s stomach lurched and proceeded to slam his spurs into his horse, urging it to a quick gallop. 

They had her in the fucking bear pit. 

Said pit was not the grandest of stages, but it was big enough to hold the entire band of bloody mummers and still have more than half of its stands empty. 

Raging and enthusiastic barbarics who howled, and roared, and laughed at the display beneath. Jaime felt an unmeasured anger bubbling near the surface of his skin, but the relief he felt on seeing Brienne was still alive and looked to be mostly physically intact was grander than any fear or wrath which could have been born within him. 

She was _alive_. Alive and facing a hairy beast, larger than even the eldest of Cleganes -yet probably not as hairy. 

She was dressed in the pitiful dress Bolton had forced her to dress in. Pink and lacey and so unlike Brienne, Jaime had teased her mercilessly about it. He cursed the damned contraption as he saw the red stains on it, as he realized they hadn't even given her proper armor to defend herself with -only a dingy looking sword. Her own blade, the one thing Bolton had let him salvage from the mummers, still resided alongside Qyburn’s mount. Jaime cursed his idiocy and his recklessness. 

He should have thought out this better. He should have never left in the first place. 

The crowd was restless, and Jaime could _see_ why. Brienne remained almost unmoving; the sword sticking out in front of her, almost as if the only thing she was aiming to accomplish was to tease the hairy beast. 

_You’re better than that, even dressed in_ that _._

Jaime still wouldn’t take any chances. He needed her out of there, and he needed her _alive_. He needed her in one piece, whole and by his side and gods- his mind was trying to make him travel down the same path again. He couldn’t, not yet, not until -

“Kingthlayer?”

The Goat’s voice rang behind him. 

“Get her out of there. Now.” Jaime threatened, the phantom pain of his mutilated fingers coming to haunt him as he found himself instinctively trying to grasp on to his sword’s hilt with his right hand. What good was it to try and intimidate by force, if he had no force to use? 

“Thee’s mine tho play with and do ath I pleathe. Thee bit outh my ear.”

“I’ll play her bloody ransom, you hear. Gold, sapphires, whatever you want. Just get her out of there. Now!”

“Buth don’th you wanth tho thee?”

Another roar made Jaime’s head snap back to where Brienne had just rolled away from the beast’s sudden attack. 

_That’s the Brienne I know. Come on, fight the damned beast before it hurts you again, grant me time to get you out._

It was only then Jaime came to realize the reason for the roaring laughter, for the sneers and the ardent yells. 

He grabbed the Goat’s arm with his left, cursing how the act felt flight and weak, for he possessed almost no strength in his left grip. But the force was enough to turn the slobbering cunt around to face Jaime’s wrath. 

“You gave her a _tourney sword_!”

The Goat laughed, loud and slobbering all over Jaime’s face, making Jaime feel his face both aflame with anger and wet with wine and spit. 

She was going to die. She was going to get ripped apart by a fucking bear as a hoard of some of the world’s most nefarious drunken bastards stood by and _watched_. 

_I should have never left._

His brain reeled, the train of thought which he had put on pause breaking from its restraints and coming in full force as he watched the young woman try and hit the bear again, the edge of the blade only serving to enrage the beast even further. 

All blood left Jaime, all rational restraint, all thought which wasn’t that of his consuming _love_ for the woman, escaped his mind. 

_Seven forgive me but I love her. I can’t let her die._

As swiftly as he could make the move, Jaime jumped into the pit, landing with a prominent huff, quickly rolling towards his left side so as to not harm the still burning stump on his right.

“What are you doing?”

_Gods, I am so sorry. For everything. For making you think you owed me anything. For allowing you to go to war with me. For burdening you with my secrets. For loving you when you deserve more than a broken, dishonorable, half-man to do so. For leaving you behind._

“Something incredibly stupid. Get behind me.”

“I’m the one with the blade!” 

And Jaime could see it then, in her eyes; blue and honest and still innocent, oozing a terror which he knew was more than reflected in his own green orbs. It was a fear which only could ever be present when you feared for the one you loved. 

_Seven help us._

“A bloody tourney sword! Get behind me!”

“Are you mad?”

_I think I might be, but not for the reason you think._

“Brienne!”

He launched in front of her as the bear lifted its paw. What in the seven hells was he going to do? He had no clear vision, no strategic plan. All he found himself capable of processing being the fact he was without fault, in love with the fearless and astonishing woman in front of him. 

_Gods, how long have I loved you? How long have you loved_ me _?_

Up from above, a feathered shaft flew right into the bear’s left eye; almost instantly there came another, and then another. The bear moaned and wailed, and was efficiently struck down. Both warriors were left still clutching on to the other, their grips as tight as they had ever been; both bodies trembling with a mix of both fear and -love. 

The Goat raged and demanded consequences, but Jaime had had enough of his slobbering presence and without reserve served to remind him and the rest of his ‘brave companions’ the one fact which they had all seemed to have forgotten about ever since they had captured them near Maidenpool. 

Lannisters always paid their debts. And the bloody bastards were sure to get paid theirs. 

“Why did you come back? I told you to leave.”

“Yes. Remind me to never succumb to such idiocities again.”

“Jaime!” She demanded, forcing the Knight to pause and stare into the most beautiful eyes he had ever seen. Eyes filled with gratitude, and longing, and worry, and love. 

"You are my sworn sword; and I’m the bloody reason you were even drawn into this mess to begin with.”

_And I love you, you magnificent, honorable woman. I love you, and the fact is that I_ can't _have you._

For years, he had blindly followed his sister; had loved her unconditionally, with the misfortune of having not been reciprocated in such affections. For _years_ he had not known what it was to stare into love-filled eyes, until now. Love in the purest and most honest form. Love given freely and without any expectations or hidden agendas. 

Not for the first time, Jaime Lannister found himself damning his given oaths. 

“I couldn’t leave you behind, Brienne. I would have never been able to live with myself if anything happened to you.”

Jaime chose to ignore her hitched breath and her blushing face. He hoped by doing so, he would also be able to tame his body’s own unmeasured reaction, and he hoped the maid would not be privy to his own blushes and sudden ardent need to hold her close -to reassure himself of her presence, alive and still frowning beside him. 

He felt his heart break into a thousand pieces as he watched her plead no boons or wishes, but merely offer him a kind and soft smile; a sadness and longing hidden behind blue orbs which he knew would probably remain there until the end of the maid’s days. She wasn’t Cersei, she would not seek to dishonor either of them. It was one of the many reasons, Jaime realized, of his fervent love for her. 

“Thank you, Jaime. I owe you my life.” 

“You owe me nothing. Never have and never will.” Jaime hoped she understood every hidden meaning behind his words.

_I love you, wholly and freely._

“Come quick. The sooner we get away from this thrice-damned castle, the easier our minds will be able to rest.” He led her on with the barest of touches and cursed the sudden jolt of electricity he allowed himself to feel. 

He couldn’t have her -he wouldn’t. Brienne of Tarth deserved every accolade which could ever be given to any man or woman; she did not deserve the love and taint of a middle aged, and soiled Knight. 

_Gods, out of all the maids in the entire realm. And it’s you the one I find myself wanting -the one I find myself loving; the one who has stolen both my heart and my soul -completely._

Suddenly, King’s Landing had become an even more distressing destination than it had previously been. 

**Author's Note:**

> So the series is not over. There are still (at least) two more scenes. But this is the last one I had already written down. So, posting the next two will probably take a little more time. My goal is to finish this before the new year.


End file.
